To wash this mixture down we had a few swigs of miserably bad lukewarm ration-coffee from a private's canteen, a bottle of confiscated Belgian mineral water, which a private at Charleroi gave us from his store, and a precious quart of the Prince de Caraman- Chimay's commandeered wine--also a souvenir of our captivity.

Late in the afternoon a sergeant sold us for a five-mark piece a big skin-casing filled with half-raw pork sausage.

I've never tasted anything better.
Even so, we fared better than the prisoners in the box cars behind and the dozen wounded men in the coach with us.

They had only coffee and dry bread and, at the latter end of the long day, a few chunks of the sausage.

Some of the wounded men were pretty badly hurt, too.